A beautiful feeling
by missymeggins
Summary: When Nathan was little he was the kind of kid who always had to be moving.


When Nathan was little he was the kind of kid who always had to be moving. If he was going somewhere, he'd be running full tilt, leaping over whatever obstacles happened to be in his way. He was the kind of kid who turned a cartwheel in the middle of the street or rolled down a hill just because he could and it was _fun. _And if he was ever supposed to be still - seated at the dinner table or his desk at school - you could be sure that his leg would be jiggling or his fingers fiddling with something. Nathan just liked to _move_.

(One day a psychologist would suggest it was a reaction against the constraints he felt at home but Nathan was never comfortable with that assertion; he preferred to think it was as simple as being a young boy in a small town with very little to do if not make your own fun.)

As a man it was almost impossible to see that boy in him. The Nathan Wuornos that Haven came to know was still and self contained. He didn't swing his arms when he walked or reach out when he saw people he knew walking down the street. He held himself in a kind of bubble, as if to separate himself from the physical world as much as he could.

And everyone knew – because that's the kind of town Haven is – that the Troubles were to blame.

Of course, it's not like the change happened immediately. On the contrary, in those early days of not feeling, when people were willing to believe the excuse of 'idiopathic neuropathy', there was a period of time when Nathan became more reckless than ever. For the briefest of moments, the inability to feel seemed as a gift to a seven year old boy and he embraced it wholeheartedly. This positive_ attitude _of his was applauded by the adults in his life. They told him he was brave and stoic, when really he was simply delirious with the possibilities. Suddenly he could do anything, take any risk, and no matter the consequences he would never have to feel the pain of it.

Still, it didn't take long to realise that the thrill of sailing down a hill on a sled at breakneck speeds doesn't have the same effect when you can't even feel the wind on your face.

And it's odd, but not being able to feel even the most fleeting pains of a skinned knee or a stubbed toe made his life feel unreal. It was like watching a movie of himself; he could see things happening but the experience wasn't truly his.

(Even later, when thumbtacks in his back and sucker punches became regular occurrence courtesy of Duke Crocker and his friends, he still would have preferred to actually feel it, if only so he could claim _surviving _as some kind of actual achievement.)

So Nathan became cautious. He slowed down. He traded running for reading and he became accustomed to moving within spaces without actually touching anything (a talent he would find advantageous during his teens when he wanted to sneak out of his house at night.)

He got used to being Troubled. (But _used to _and _okay with _have never been interchangeable.)

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xx

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When Audrey came to town things started to change. He began to notice the way people dealt with his Trouble in a way he never really had before. And the more time he found himself spending time with Duke, the more obvious it was that his former nemesis and his new partner occupied opposite ends of the spectrum.

Because the thing Nathan finds the most annoying about Duke – aside from the obviously problematic criminal element – is that he always seems to take great delight in reminding Nathan of his Trouble.

It's not like they're terribly physical with each other. Their contentious history hasn't exactly resulted in a close enough friendship for man hugs - or even hearty handshakes - but since Audrey began co-opting Duke into helping them out from time to time, it hasn't been completely unheard of for Duke to give Nathan a slap on the back in a sort 'there you go, I've done my bit' kind of gesture.

And that would be fine if he didn't always seem to put as much force into it as he possibly could. Nathan has actually felt himself stumble forward once or twice from the force behind it. It's just like the thumb tacks all over again; there's not necessarily any malice behind it but it's as though it simply amuses Duke to see just how much Nathan can't feel.

(He supposes maybe, _maybe _- and in truth he would certainly _like _to believe it - Duke doesn't even realise that's what he's doing.)

It's not just that though. At the Gull he's heard Duke tell a hundred customers to be careful of hot plates – but he's never once warned Nathan of the same thing. (Yes, he does realise what a petty complaint that is. But it's still hard not to feel the broader significance.)

If he's honest though, Duke is hardly the first person to treat him in this manner. The truth is, most of the people in his life have tended toward this attitude. He can't _feel _anything so there's less need to be careful. It's not meant to be cruel; it's just the way their logic works.

That's where Audrey is different though.

(It's never _just _been about the fact that he can feel her. In fact, he actually tries not to think about that too much, worried that if he does he might grab her hand one day and never be able to let go.)

Audrey will blow on his coffee til it cools to make sure he doesn't burn himself. She's even more conscious of not slamming the car door on his fingers after having done it once already. She'll warn him of low hanging branches, or potholes or _any _potential danger every single time. It doesn't matter that he can't _feel _pain, she still wants to protect him from injury. And _that_ more than anything (maybe even more than her touch) actually makes him feel connected to his life, to his body.

(When she _does _touch him though – well he feels that more acutely than anything he's ever known.)

With Audrey his Trouble feels neither irrelevant nor a burden; he doesn't have to pretend it doesn't exist but it fades into the background anyway, mostly irrelevant to the relationship they have. The duality of _not feeling _and _only _feeling _her _doesn't feel like an anomaly; it just feels like reality and these days he's far more comfortable with his reality than he used to be.

Nathan used to think there wasn't much he wouldn't trade in order to feel again. But he knows now that Audrey – touch or no touch – will never be one of them.

Besides, it was the Troubles that brought her to Haven in the first place and when he thinks of it like that, it doesn't seem like such a price to pay.

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xx

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In the course of his life Nathan has been movement and he's been stillness. He's been fuelled by anger and tethered by fear. He's spent most of it travelling between extremes, but with Audrey beside him he's finally finding the middle ground.

The wall around him is less solid now and it shows, with Audrey is in his space more often than she's not. He'll sit at the counter of the diner sandwiched between jostling elbows and not mind. He'll shake hands when he meets someone new and he'll slap Duke on the back in a friendly gesture of thanks whenever he deigns to help them out.

(It's true he sometimes hits him harder than he means to, but force is hard to judge when you can't feel it. Or so he'll tell Duke.)

He doesn't even mind so much when Duke joins him and Audrey for drinks at the Gull. There's room, he's realised now, for change and fresh starts.

After years of turbulence and uncertainly Nathan Wuornos finally stands firmly in the _middle_ of his life instead of retreating to its edges.

It feels good.


End file.
